40 Days

November 24, 1997

Sleet pounded the tent, and we had officially run out of food after lunch. We had nothing, not even raw mushrooms. Performing magic took energy we didn't have, so we piled on clothes to keep ourselves warm and huddled together in his bed.

I dreaded taking the necessary risk of visiting some small village or market town. We had to stay together because I didn't trust Harry on his own. When I confronted Harry about his risky behavior during the fight, he told me he was destined to die at the end of the war, but — and this was even more concerning—he believed he couldn't die until that point in time was reached—and the locket was counting down to that specific time—which is why he needed to keep it with him, to monitor its rhythms.

This insane belief was why he had fought off the three death eaters with such surety and maniacal giddiness. His crazed confidence that he was, for the time being, invulnerable to death. I shivered as I remembered the crunch of bone under his foot.

Harry wrapped his arms tighter around me. "We shouldn't wait until tomorrow. I can go get you something to eat now."

This was the third time he asked me, apparently putting me in danger by saying Voldemort's name was okay. Scaring me with his insane behavior was okay. But me going hungry for a day was not okay in Locket Harry's point of view.

I shook my head, probably smacking his face with my curls with how close he was to me. "They saw us before we knocked them out. They're probably on high alert right now. It's better to wait as long as we can before going in public somewhere."

"If I had killed them, we wouldn't have to worry about this."

The bland evenness of his tone was shocking, as if he were talking about nothing of importance. I turned in his arms to face him, as we cuddled close on the bed, searching his eyes again for the glimmer of Harry from before. "We can't just kill people. That's not who we are, that's not who you are."

"These aren't people—they're death eaters and in case you misunderstood—they mean to exterminate muggleborns like you. They deserve to die."

"You didn't think so just a few months ago–remember what you told me about arguing with Lupin? He was mad at you for not stunning or killing Stan Shunpike–what did you tell me you told him?"

Harry's lips tightened. He wasn't going to answer me.

"You told him you wouldn't just blast away people because they were in your way, because that's his way."

"I was wrong." He leaned closer, his nose brushing mine, and whispered to me. "Just imagine Hermione, never having to deal with that shite again. I can do that for you."

"Don't make this about me. I don't want you killing anyone."

"I think you're just still mad at me from the other day."

"What?"

He pressed even close to me. "When I didn't let you come."

I felt his hands working between us, wiggling under the layers of clothes as he shifted us on the bed. "Harry I don't think–"

"Good, don't think." He lowered head so he could kiss the curve of my neck where his kiss mark still showed and his hand slipped into my pants. "Just let me make you happy."

I sucked in my stomach, trying to pull myself away from him since he kept his other arm tight around me. As soon as I felt the warm pressure of his hand against me, anticipation rushed through me, my nipples tightening, as if my body remembered his touch after only one taste.

"I love the way you tremble when I touch you." He whispered hotly against me.

He was moving with more surety now, one finger sliding along the top of my underwear, pressing in slightly. I was making those noises again, those small high-pitched cries each time he circled his fingers around my clit tauntingly.

He started a fire in my body, pleasure ravaging me. "Tell me you want me to make you come."

I gasped, my hips trying to move me harder against him, my arms thrown around his neck, holding him tight as he whispered dirty things to me. His fingers moved lower, pressing harder. The only reason he wasn't inside me was the thin barrier of my underwear.

"Hermione..." His hand moved with my hips, not letting me chase my own pleasure. "Tell me you want me to make you come."

The stillness of his hand against me made clear the threat of what he would do if I didn't say it, no longer rubbing and driving me toward orgasm. "Say it."

My hands shifted and my fingers dug into his shoulder blades, trying to get my mouth to obey, until I finally choked out. "Make me come, Harry."

He bit my neck and pushed hard against my clit, the pleasure and pain streaking through me like lightning and I screamed his name as I came.